Waiting for You

Chapter 5 (*Anti-Drama Zone*)

Maya's Pov:

I was really struggling to focus in class, but it felt like trying to climb Mount Everest without oxygen, a map, or basic motor skills. My eyelids? Heavy like I'd glued anvils to them. And my brain? Oh, it had packed its bags and gone on an all-inclusive vacation. Honestly, who could blame it after I gave it a luxurious three hours of sleep? What can I say, I live on the edge.

At 1:00 AM, I finally crashed, which sounds a lot cooler than what actually happened—me staring at the ceiling, spiraling into a black hole of midnight overthinking. You know the drill. First, it's "Did I lock the door?" then two hours later, you're sobbing about the fact you used to collect rocks as a kid, and now they're all gone. A full-blown existential crisis. Classic.

At exactly 4 AM, my alarm decided to rip me from my three-hour "nap" with the enthusiasm of a jackhammer. It was like, 'Hey! You said you wanted to be productive today, remember?' I did not. I was violently thrust out of what could have been a dream—if we're counting staring at the backs of my eyelids as dreaming. Apparently, I get to live life on 'hard mode' because, yeah, three hours of sleep is totally enough, right? WRONG.

So, there I was, stumbling out of bed, not as a functioning human, but more like one of those zombies in low-budget horror films—jerky movements, blank stares, maybe a little drool. Honestly, it's a miracle I didn't faceplant into the wall on my way to the bathroom. I could barely handle walking, let alone walking and thinking at the same time.

But let's be real: it's not like I spent those sleepless hours solving the world's problems or curing any diseases. Oh no, that would've been too productive. Instead, I opted for the old classic: staring into the void while my brain played the Greatest Hits of Anxiety, including bangers like 'Why Did I Say That in 8th Grade?' and 'Should I Just Move to a Remote Island and Raise Goats?' Riveting stuff.

Meanwhile, my pillow? Yeah, it soaked up all the drama like it was in some soap opera. It's basically a sponge for tears at this point. Should I be worried? Absolutely. Am I? Meh. It's my emotional support pillow now. Nothing says comfort like sobbing into your pillow for reasons that make zero sense in the light of day.

The best part? No one around me really understood why I was perpetually exhausted and emotionally wrung out like an old sponge. Everyone just slapped the "quiet" label on me like that explained everything. Because sure, why not. I'm "quiet," and therefore I must be mysterious, weird, or possibly plotting world domination. (Spoiler alert: I'm just tired and socially awkward.)

When the second class ended, I bolted out the door faster than you can say "socially anxious introvert." 

Where to? The only place on campus where I didn't feel like a complete misfit: the library. It's my sanctuary, my happy place, where time slows down and no one bothers me with pesky things like talking. Books are my escape, and no, it doesn't automatically make me a nerd, okay? Contrary to popular belief, being a book lover just means I prefer the company of fictional characters over actual people—because fictional characters don't judge you for wearing the same hoodie three days in a row.

So, there I was, making a beeline for the fiction section, on a mission to find a rom-com that wouldn't make me gag. Simple enough, right? Wrong. After an hour of searching, I was empty-handed. Finding a decent rom-com these days is like looking for a unicorn at a rodeo. All I wanted was a story where the female lead didn't spend 90% of the book blushing and the male lead wasn't a billionaire with a dark past or a mafia boss with a hidden soft spot for kittens. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, yes.

Finally, I found something that didn't look like a dumpster fire of cliches, grabbed it like it was the last donut at a breakfast buffet, and made my way to check it out. Just as I started down the library stairs, already planning my great escape into the world of fiction, a commotion behind me pulled me back into the cruel, unforgiving reality of college life.